


Screaming As Though The Darkness Could Help Us

by Genoa_Lexia



Series: Black Widow and Hawkeye [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Assassins & Hitmen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Spies & Secret Agents, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genoa_Lexia/pseuds/Genoa_Lexia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Lightwood/Hawkeye</p><p>Organisation: SHIELD</p><p>Specialty: Archery</p><p>Age: Unknown</p><p>Known Weaknesses: Family [locations: unknown]</p><p>Mission: Eliminate</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Woolsey Scott/Praetor

Organisation: Praetor Lupus

Specialty: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Known Weaknesses: Seduction

Mission: Gather intel

 

* * *

 

West Berlin was full of neon lights. They lit up the shop windows and lined the streets. The restaurants were full, men with long hair and women in USA-made denim. His handler had told Magnus that there'd be evidence of capitalist disposable income but he hadn't expected such... frivolity. These weren't people that had learned to put the Motherland ahead of themselves. In fact, they seemed, to Magnus, to show exactly the capitalist conceitedness he'd heard about. This was exactly to be expected, of course, but it was almost strange how obviously _other_ the enemies of the USSR were.

Magnus had arrived at the bar exactly on time. He had stood on the road across from it for a few moments to get the lay of the land. It was a moderately busy street, with the majority of footfall coming from the North, the other direction leading only to the Wall. Settling the role he had to play firmly to the front of his mind, Magnus crossed the road to the bar.

Wood-panelled walls made up the interior of the dingy room, surrounding a number of tables, before melting into the shelves of liquor that made up the cocktail bar. Magnus caught the eye of a red-headed woman on the other side of the room and looked down in a well-practised move.

_"You will rarely find a target you'll need to approach straight away," Camille said, twirling an intricately-carved knife between her long fingers. "They want to feel as though everything they are doing is their idea. Just draw them in," she continued, dragging a blood-red nail down the edge of the blade. "Until they come to you on their own."_

Extracting information had always been his forte and he'd had a fine-tuned technique on this since before the Wall went up. In short, he was the best the KGB had had since Yelena Belova herself. Ordering a shot of whisky from the barman, he let his eyes skip over the man with the grey eyes. The man from the file he'd read on the train here, before setting it alight and leaving it in the street next to an overflowing supermarket.

He drained his glass quickly upon its arrival and waited.

Two drinks later someone sat down on the bar stool next to his.

"Mind if I sit here?" Came a gruff, distinguished voice. Woolsey Scott. Magnus looked him over appraisingly.

"I think I'd prefer to sit alone," He replied, turning away slightly as he waited for his mark to take the bait.

"Even if I pay for your next one?" Scott continued. Magnus made a derisive noise, looking up at him from under his eyelashes as he did so.

_"It's probably the most over-used technique and certainly not one I'd make a signature move but, well, some clichés are there for a reason," Camille had said, back in one of Magnus' earliest lessons, halfway through his Red Room training. "Never underestimate the arrogance that drives everyone to believe themselves irresistible."_

"I rather think I can afford my own drinks, thank you," He said, catching the bartender's eye to indicate wanting another.

"Oh, I don't doubt that. But," Scott met Magnus' eye as though he had something truly meaningful to say. "Perhaps, you don't have to" Magnus raised an eyebrow in response, pausing to flick a piece of hair from his eyes, noting the ease with which the other man tracked the movement.

  _"Don't resist the urge to allow a mission to go quickly. If you have managed to," Camille paused, her eyes flashing mockingly. "Charm," there was a delicate emphasis on the word. "Your target easily then extract your information as soon as you can - the Motherland requires quick service to keep it great."_

"If you insist." Magnus acquiesced, tilting one side of his mouth slightly.

 

* * *

 

One hour later, Magnus had a drop of blood between his fingertips and a head full of intel. His designated meeting spot was the first station in the Eastern sector of Berlin - Karl-Liebknecht-Strasse, named for one of the founders of German Communist movement. No mention of Marx; Magnus supposed he didn't display quite enough revolutionary ideology in the Manifesto all of this was supposedly based on to be considered as great as the likes of Stalin.

Making his way down the steps to where the station met the road, Magnus brushed past a woman in grey shoes of slightly different shades, handing over a scrap of paper. It was a map of holes, carefully punched in, to denote information in the form of the KGB's latest adaptation of Morse Code.

For a second, Magnus found himself thinking that the woman could do with some warmer, not Ostdeutsche, clothes. Western clothes, even. His own thoughts made Magnus pause. He needed to get back to Moscow before his mind became to entrenched in American propaganda. As the years moved on, the number of defections had far from diminished.

With the grace of the ballet dancer he had been trained as, Magnus sidled down the alleyway next to the Stasi building. Pushing easily against one of the identikit bricks of the wall to his left, Magnus made his way down the steps into his handler's Berlin base of operations.

"Mission report, Widow." Came the voice of the Crimson Dynamo. Magnus' handler, and mentor, was the best in the Agency. Magnus was third- Second. Second since Camille's death. The original Black Widow had taught him well.

 _"Love is weakness." Camille said, one hand at Magnus' throat. "It'll kill you in the end; weakness always does." It was 1947 and Magnus, 2 years since Initiation, had not quite mastered the art of hiding his reactions. "Oh, darling," Camille gave a snide little laugh. "You didn't think_ this _was love, did you?"_

_"No." He'd swallowed, smoothing his meticulously-practised over his features. "Love is weakness. That lesson was long learnt by Initiation."_

_"Good." Camille had said. Magnus had still had to convince her properly over the next few nights but, at the end of the day, he needed to help bring honour back to the Motherland. Of course he would do what was required; no other option was viable._

"Intelligence acquired over 40 minutes; extraction well within the timeframe. Assessment of intel-"

"Your assessment is not required on this - leave that to us."

"Understood, comrade," Magnus replied, inclining his head.

"Has he formed an attatchment?"

Magnus paused, considering. Having extracted the intel across... An evening, Magnus had left. His calling card left on the side table and a laughed reply at the target's hopeful inquiry of another meeting. The man's assassination was pencilled in for next year.

"Love is weakness," Magnus repeated. "Though I'm sure the founder of the Praetor Lupus is prone to weakness."

The black eyes of the Crimson Dynamo were as emotionless as ever. "Good. Keep him on side - we may have further use of him yet."

"Of course, I always leave with an air of mystery. With respect, comrade, I am the strongest asset this agency has," Magnus said, the slightest edge to his voice. Then there was a hand at his throat and stars behind his eyes. The air was pulled from his lungs as his back hit the wall behind him.

"Apart from myself."

Magnus laughed as best he could with his little oxygen. He hooked his ankle behind the other man's leg, making him lose his balance.

"We both serve the Motherland," Magnus said, pulling one of his wrists behind his back and pushing him forwards. The Crimson Dynamo broke the grip easily, producing a knife from his belt.

Magnus parried the blow, blocking it with the Widow's Bite that cuffed his wrist. The bracelet sparked, catching on the other man's skin.

"Your next target is an American." He said, body seizing slightly as he tried to fight off the pulse.

"Naturally," Magnus responded drily as he braced himself for the next strike. There was a flash of light on the other man's blade as it drove down toward Magnus' shoulder. A few drops of blood began to pool on the stone floor.

Magnus moved into a punch, opening up the spike inside his ring. The point caught in his opponent's side and he dragged his hand down across his stomach. The sun was down and this place was always dark - no unnecessary lights could be afforded this side of the wall. The air was cold; Magnus was distracted, tired after days without sleep. A roundhouse kick caught him in the ribs and Magnus was never going to win this fight.

They were the example: the Black Widow and the Crimson Dynamo. The ones the trainees of the Red Room were told to emulate as best they could. They were the best of the best, in the way the Winter Soldier and Camille had been, back before Magnus took on her title.

They were not as equally matched as their predecessors, however. Magnus could beat the Dynamo 40% of the time, but never on 84 sleepless hours. Camille had been near-unbeatable. But then, so had _he._

Those black eyes moved down the corridor to an approaching figure. The man nodded as he walked past. Magnus hit the floor, his lapse in concentration taken advantage of.

"The file's in your weaponry," The Dynamo said, bringing his heel down on Magnus' back one more time.

 

* * *

 

Alexander Lightwood/Hawkeye

Organisation: SHIELD

Specialty: Archery

Age: Unknown

Known Weaknesses: Family [locations: unknown]

Mission: Eliminate

　

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was fifteen years since he'd last been in Obststrasse and Magnus was unsurprised to find it changed. It was 1986 and the Eastern regime was faltering, the bar he'd visited back then had been torn down and turned into a bookshop. Magnus was more interested in the extra storeys that had been built.

The building stood at eleven metres now, dwarfing the streetlamp in front of it. Magnus couldn't see to the top of the building from his position across the road but he knew what he would find. He had a four hour window to complete this mission - more than he needed. The extra time was either a hidden reward for a high-profile assassination or a test of his loyalty to the KGB, Magnus couldn't tell.

The roof of the building was a good vantage point. You could see out across a large portion of the city - houses, parks, eateries. Even the garden of the ambassador's house. Ostensibly, Magnus was here in an official capacity. He was to guard the West German ambassador to the Kremlin, lest anything should happen to him.

Unofficially, however, Magnus was here as an assassin. The ambassador had been showing too many pro-Communist sympathies for the US government's liking. As such, he needed to be eliminated. Not that this would be happening, of course. Taking out the US assassin was an easy hit for an operative of Magnus' calibre. The KGB was careful to remind that this was his greatest, and only, talent.

Magnus sat in the café across the road, waiting for nightfall. His informant couldn't be sure of the exact day of the assassination attempt but Magnus was more than prepared to wait for any number of nights. The West had become ever-more entrancing in his years as a Red spy. He could certainly find a way to pass the time in West Berlin. The current music scene, for instance, was certainly worth exploring.

Magnus pulled a book from his satchel - his file on the mission, disguised in a cover of Tolstoy's War and Peace. Reading a Cyrillic-lettered  Russian novel in West Berlin was hardly inconspicuous but the information was encoded such that no one would be able to work out it was anything untoward.

Magnus took a moment to appreciate the effort that had gone into this particular ruse. All the sections of the story labelled 'war' were details of the target's previous known missions, all those labelled 'peace' described what to do if any number of things went wrong. It was certainly a high-profile case. Whilst it was hardly uncommon for Magnus to receive such targets, it did strike him as somewhat bizarre that this one hadn't been given to the Winter Soldier. Though there had been rumours of another agency having pulled him from the KGB. Magnus would not be asking anyone about such rumours, of course. He did rather value his life.

Known by the moniker Hawkeye, Alexander Lightwood came from an interesting background, Magnus found out. After growing up in a circus, he was put into foster care after the death of his younger brother under suspicious circumstances. A few years moving from one foster home to the next - including one instance when he was kicked out for getting into a fight with the local mayor - until his emancipation when he turned eighteen.

Recruited by SHIELD a few months later - a few months of living on the streets - he made a quick ascent through the ranks. Solo missions included the Defeat at Madripoor and the Rescue of Quicksilver from Doom. He was most active, and effective, when partnered with Mockingbird, however.

The book contained a whole chapter on her credentials - she was, essentially, the USA's version of Magnus himself. Excellence in extracting intel through seduction, as well as boasting a proficiency in disguise. Her trademarks were her whip and a pair of expandable batons. Magnus had yet to fight her.

It was just past nine o'clock now and Magnus could hear the music coming from whoever was performing in front of Brandenburg Gate tonight. The din combined with the general hubbub of the café, unusually full for this time of day, creating an air of chaos Magnus associated only with the West.

It was dark already but Magnus would still be able to discern if anyone entered the building across the road. Along with an increased lifespan, the various experiments the Soviets had performed on him had left with enhanced senses, sight in particular. Unlike his slowed aging, however, the effects of those experiments were visible from any first meeting - his slitted pupils tended to leave quite an impression.

* * *

 Magnus left his post when half the night had elapsed and it became apparent that today was not the day he'd be needed. His nondescript room in a small motel, just south of the Reichstag, was comfortable enough for him to sleep. Of course, he had been trained to sleep amongst corpses, on the side of Russian mountains and clinging on to the underside of automobiles. Sleep was always easier under certain circumstances, however.

Magnus cuffed his left wrist to the metal headboard, as he had since he was eight years old, and settled in to sleep. That night he dreamed of Initiation.

_"Thirteen years old. Five years of training here at the Red Room. Today each of you, and your training partners, will be Initiated." Camille's long hair gleamed in her waist-length plait. Her voice was powerful, even in how smooth it was. Almost like liquid - some kind of poison----_

_And then Magnus was looking down at Raphael whose wrist was bent at an unnatural angle, spilling blood across the stone floor as he tried to land a hit to the side of Magnus' head. Magnus had always been stronger though. He had to be stronger. He had to be worth something to the country that had rebuilt him after his family fell apart. His mother's death was his fault and he needed to make up for it. He needed to be_ better----

_There was a knife in his hand now, the other at Raphael's throat. Five years of training together and he had all of the other boy's weaknesses catalogued----_

_A crack echoed in his ears as Raphael went limp. Magnus stood up and stepped away. Already small for his age, Raphael looked tiny and weak, his body a contorted, bloody mess in the courtyard of the Winter Palace. Magnus took another step and willed himself not to run away. Any moment now. Any moment the feeling of victory would set in. Any moment now he'd feel the elation - the satisfaction - the- Anything other than the nausea filling his stomach as the closest thing he'd had to family over the last half a decade lay dead at his hands._

_He felt sick, he felt cold. He felt like crying - Magnus felt- he felt weak._

_"Love is weakness," He whispered and, for the first time, he believed it._

* * *

 Hawkeye wasn't there the next night. Magnus slept fitfully.

* * *

He wasn't there the next night either.

* * *

Or the night after that.

* * *

 Tonight was the ambassador's penultimate night in Berlin and the archer was running out of moments for his assassination. More importantly, so was Magnus.

There was an itch under skin, urging him back to Moscow. He'd been far too exposed to American propaganda over the last few days, Magnus thought mechanically. The idea didn't seem as obvious, or as urgent, as it once had.

There was a flicker of a shadow on the other side of the road. Magnus checked his watch. 10:42. It was dark enough that he could scale the outside of the building without being spotted.

He dropped onto the roof without a sound, dropping to a couch. Magnus had made a mental note of where the best viewpoint was on his initial scout of the roof, his first day in Berlin. He positioned himself so that he was hidden from the eyeline of someone standing in that spot.

Patience was a virtue Magnus possessed in abundance. He busied himself by mentally counting each of his concealed knives, going through their hiding places, from his boots to the needle-thin blades inside his oversized earrings. Up to 27 and down again.

There were three daggers in his left shoe. One concealed within the 4-inch heel; one holstered in the internal scabbard. The third was hidden within the lining of the boot, two centimetres from the zip that ran its length. It mirrored an identical blade inside the shoe Magnus wore on his right foot. 4.

Six knives in varying sizes, two with wickedly serrated edges, lined the belt he wore around his waist. There were four more cutlasses concealed in each side of the long coat he wore. Two tiny butterfly knives were held inside the mechanisms of the watch around Magnus' left wrist. 20.

There was a machete strapped to his right forearm, overlaid with twisting bands of metal, creating the appearance of an extravagant bangle. 21.

In the leather strap that wrapped around the bicep of his left arm, were the scabbards for two daggers. He'd won the vibranium one, able to conduct Darkmatter, in his Initiation. 23.

He'd kept that one for sentimental reasons, not that he allowed himself to acknowledge it. Raphael had had a vibranium crucifix on a chain around his neck, Magnus never found out how he'd managed to keep such an overtly religious icon in the USSR. His body had been cremated while Magnus was given his first assignment. No goodbye; no way to pull the necklace from the corpse's neck. He'd kept the vibranium knife in his arsenal as the weakest show of respect possible. Sometimes he hated himself for cowardice. Sometimes he hated himself for other reasons.

And then Alexander Lightwood was on the rooftop.

Magnus removed a knife from its holster, careful to hold it out of the moonlight as he waited for the target to take his position.

Hawkeye pulled an arrow from his collection and nocked it into his bow - he held his bow as a Frenchman would, Magnus noted dimly. Pale, muscled arms slowly drew back the bow Magnus had seen so any photos of.

Once at full extension, Hawkeye moved to aim his shot.

He turned and pointed the arrow directly at Magnus.


End file.
